


Operation Barbarossa

by TeenySweeney



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied RusGer, Non-Graphic Violence, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeenySweeney/pseuds/TeenySweeney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany pays the price for betrayal.</p><p>(Con-crit is hugely appreciated on stuff like characterisation and just general writing! :3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Operation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://stirringwind.tumblr.com/post/84635095190/operation-barbarossa-stupid-boy-did-you-forget)

This was a mistake. If there was a time when he should have questioned orders, it should have been when the order was given to attack Russia. This was a  _terrible_  mistake. His men are cold and hungry and  _dying_ \- so many are already dead - and some of them are  _praying_. What for, he doesn't know. He doesn't care anymore. If they're hoping for rescue...well, he's not quite heartless enough to tell them to give up, but he pities them. There is no rescue for them here. The only hope they have is that they will be found and killed and it will be quick, rather than slowly starve or freeze to death.

More than anything, they're exhausted. One of his men bursts into tears at random intervals, curling into himself and hiding his face in shame. They've tried to comfort him before, but he's inconsolably afraid. Germany thinks he might need a hospital if he gets out of this alive. If any of them do...and he hopes against hope that they do. Their chances are slim, especially in this interminable winter, but it's not  _impossible_.

Then there is the crunch of boots on snow above the dugout where they're sheltering and a soft tutting that makes the hairs on the back of Germany's neck stand on end.

"Silly, silly Germaniya." A voice coos. "You must be so cold. You could be curled up somewhere warm, but instead you're here...why is that?"

Germany doesn't respond. He swallows thickly and quakes in fear. He does  _not_  want to face up to what he has chosen to do. His troops are looking at him in shock and he can see their fear mounting. If  _he_  is too afraiid to face Russia, how must they feel...?

"I know you're down there, Germaniya!" Russia sing-songs.

There is another tense pause. The crying soldier is shaking as if he might start again, but he has his hand over his mouth to muffle himself. The men either side of him are patting his back and every single one of them is looking at Germany. He doesn't have a choice but to deal with this. If he's lucky, maybe it'll inspire some fighting spirit, but he's doubtful about that.

He sighs a little and clutches his gun to his chest - it's jammed, but he feels a little less vulnerable with it in his hands - and he crawls out of his hiding place, standing and turning to face his new enemy.

"Russland." He nods curtly.

In true Russia style, a head-tilt and a sweet smile with closed eyes is what he receives in return. Why, it's almost as if they have just met all over again.

Except that Germany feels like he's going to die.

"Does it work?" Russia asks, but Germany isn't focusing properly and only manages to look confused.

So Russia kicks one heavy boot against Germany's gun, sending him back a couple of paces. Germany doesn't answer. Instead he corrects his balance again, his fingers tightening around his useless weapon.

"I thought not." Russia smirks. "You look cold..."

"So do you." Germany grits back.

"Da, but you're not dressed for this weather." Russia crouches down so that they're closer. "It's unlike you to be so unprepared,  _dorogaya_. Or did you want those men to die?"

Germany feels ill. He feels so ill, he might just be sick on Russia's wonderfully shiny shoes. He shakes his head, trying to speak before any kind of response has formed and just ends up stuttering uselessly. And Russia laughs, reaching out with both hands to brush the snow from Germany's shoulders. It's almost soothing in the moment before Russia grips his collar and pulls him up onto the higher ground where he stands. Germany's feet are almost off the floor and he has dropped his gun in the move.

"You have made a very big mistake, haven't you?" Russia asks softly.

He sounds so,  _so_  sympathetic, but the smile on his face is all too sadistic and Germany is terrified, nodding slightly.

"J-ja..."

"Your men are dying."

He nods more, his breath catching in his chest. "I know..."

"Why did you do it?"

Russia tilts his head again. Germany's feet are more firmly planted on the ground now - only one of Russia's hands is on his collar; the other hangs by his side. It comes up to tilt his head back up as Germany begins to shamefully avert his gaze.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, pet."

There is a tense pause before Germany gathers his courage, swallows and gives his answer, making an impressive effort to keep his voice steady.

"I had orders."

Germany doesn't know why he's shocked when Russia hits him, sending him skidding across the ice and snow a little, but he kind of lays there for a second, blinking before he tries to get up. He hears the next attack swishing through the air before it hits him - that damn water pipe hits him full force in the stomach, winding him enough to incapacitate him for a short while. Russia paces around him for that short while, letting him recover somewhat, though it's more likely he's watching him suffer as he struggles not to be violently sick. Eventually he manages to regain his composure and begins trying to stand again, but Russia strikes him again. He kicks him onto his back this time, grabbing his collar and lifting him up again. Germany grips at Russia's arms, trying to support himself, feeling dizzy and faint. He can feel the warm, steady trickle of blood from his nose and the inside of his cheek and his stomach still hurts.

"Please--" He chokes out without any real plea to follow it, his breath misting in front of him.

"You and your men aren't designed for this weather." Russia points out.

Germany shakes his head, desperate to agree with anything Russia says, hoping vainly that he might spare him a little.

"I-I know! I'd leave if I could--"

Russia laughs. "Of course you would. You've been very foolish."

"You trusted me." Germany shrugs as best as he can. "So you'd know all about being foolish."

"I did trust you." Russia drops him back onto the ground, the impact winding him a second time, except this time he straddles him, wrapping one hand around Germany's throat and squeezing, his other hand holding up the water pipe. "And you betrayed me."

Germany has just enough time to swallow before the grip on his throat begins to cut off his air supply. He tries to get away; dear God does he try to squirm out of Russia's grasp, but his energy levels are low and Russia has always been stronger than him.

"So arrogant, Germaniya. Like Prussiya! You always have to have the last word." The grip tightens. "Maybe those ones will be your last words."

Germany feels dizzier than ever, his eyes watering, clawing fiercely at Russia's hand with one of his own, gripping at the front of his jacket with the other and trying to breathe in, despite knowing how futile his attempts would be.

"P-please--Russia...R-Russ--let go--please--" He forces out, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Let go?" Russia repeats, and then he does let go, after giving it some thought.

He's thankful, because he's just about conscious, drawing in huge gasps of air, but Russia, upon letting go, swings his water pipe up dangerously.

Germany panics, putting his hands up in some form of defence and squeezing his eyes shut. "RUSSIA--"

His voice softens and wavers towards the end of his yell and there is silence. Germany is terrified to open his eyes in case that's what Russia is waiting for, but  he has to, so he does. As it turns out, Russia is just watching him. He doesn't actually seem to intend on hitting him, but he is still poised to.

"Please...please don't...I'll leave." Germany mumbles, his voice cracking every now and then, his hands returning to the front of Russia's jacket. "I'll take the men I have left and I'll leave. Just please, for the love of God, please don't hit me again...I've learned my lesson..."

"Reduced to begging and you still won't say it. I'm impressed, Germaniya." Russia taunts.

Germany shakes his head. "I can't..."

"Then until you do, your pleas will fall on deaf ears." He raises the pipe a little higher and that's all it takes.

" _I surrender_!" Germany tries to shout, but his voice won't raise that far now.

Russia hears him anyway. It doesn't matter. Russia hasn't murdered him, but his boss is going to. Strangely, he doesn't feel like that matters much either.

"It's a shame, you know." Russia says placidly, putting the pipe in his hand back in his jacket.

"I know."

"Never mind." He smiles, patting Germany's very painful cheek and getting up, brushing the snow off of his clothes and leaving him to lie there.

And lie there he does until one of his men tentatively peers over the ledge of frozen dirt and snow to see him.

"Are we safe, boss?"

"Well...we can go  _home_." Germany answers measuredly, pushing himself into a seated position, then slowly up to standing. "So gather the troops we still have before they freeze and we have no-one to go home with."

The soldier nods, then pauses. "Are...you okay, sir?"

"That was an order -  _follow it._ " Germany snaps - there is no more time to be lenient with them. "I have a medic at home, now stop worrying about me and do as you're  _told_."

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!"

Germany sighs a little, resisting the urge to lay back down in the snow and just stay there and forcing himself to walk (limp, though he tries to hide it) back to his men, rounding them up to talk them through a plan of action to get back home.


	2. Chapter 2: The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany gets tended to by a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GerIta, maybe...if you squint.

It is almost midnight when Germany returns home. His frayed nerves have managed to endure his boss' tirade and he has gotten the men who need it to the hospital. The nurses had offered to care for him, but he waved them off, asking that they tend to his men instead. Reluctantly, they had let him go home. When he arrives, he is completely unsurprised to find that all the lights are still on in his house. For once, he's a little relieved - it means that Italy is still awake; he can have some company as well as medical attention.

He hears Italy yell a greeting from upstairs while he's shrugging his soaking wet jacket off. The snow had melted on the way home. Now his clothes are damp and he can't warm up. He leans against the door, exhausted, and sighs, closing his eyes and opening them again when there are footsteps on the stairs. They stop when Italy pauses for a second, his jaw dropping slightly in shock. Germany waves weakly with one hand, then he picks up again, rushing down to meet him, worried.

"Oh gosh, Germany what happened to you!? You're bleeding and everything, you're really hurt, oh gosh."

He reaches out a couple of times to hug him, but Germany catches his hands and shakes his head feebly.

"I know, it's bad, I know. I was hoping you could patch me up." Germany sighs.

Italy nods earnestly, ducking under one of Germany's arms to pull him (to his credit, slowly and gently) to the living room. Germany sighs deeply when he finally gets to sit on the sofa, listening to Italy chattering away.

"Okay, I'll make you a warm drink and get the first aid kit and -- your shirt is wet, so take that off, or you'll catch a cold -- and I'll get you a blanket. Wait here."

Germany watches him go, reluctant to try and sit up straight enough to remove his shirt, but he does it, then kicks off his boots. There is a long, straight bruise forming from the bottom of his left-hand ribs, across his stomach and towards his right hip. Everything just hurts. He feels like sleeping, but he's too cold and he needs to let Italy tend to him first.

"Idiota. Invading Russia in the winter." He mutters as he comes back in, pressing a steaming mug of hot chocolate into Germany's hands and draping a heavy blanket around his shoulders.

"I know." He sighs back. "Please don't lecture me. I'm too tired."

Italy just tuts and gently tilts Germany's head up so that he can see better, standing over him and cleaning the blood from under his nose and his chin. Germany winces and pulls away from him when the cloth catches a split in his lip that he hasn't realised was there. 

"Sit still." Italy commands, defeating the point by pulling him back anyway. "Now, tell me why you thought this whole thing was a good idea."

"It wasn't." Germany sighs. "It was an order."

Italy rolls his eyes. "That's your problem. You just blindly follow orders. You can't live like that."

"I don't have a choice right now..."

"You always have a choice, Germany. You're too set in your ways and it's going to get you in trouble."

"Only this once has it ever served me badly to follow orders." Germany points out snappishly. "Stop acting like this is the end of the world."

"Have you  _seen_ _yourself_ , Germany?" Italy retorts, drawing himself up to his full height and folding his arms. "You're going to be black and blue for days and you'll be lucky not to get sick. Stop trying to blame me and just let me deal with this."

Germany sighs and turns his face up, sitting quietly from then on so that Italy can check him over a little more, putting antiseptic on his cuts and gently touching his nose, wincing at the resulting flinch.

"Broken, then?" He asks hesitantly, looking apologetic.

"Broken."

"I'm sorry...do you want some ice for that...?"

Germany hesitates and then shakes his head. "You must be tired. I don't want to keep you up--"

"I'm fine, Germany. If you were so worried about that you would have seen the nurses." Italy points out, cutting him off.

They're quiet for a moment, Germany looking up at him before sighing and drinking his hot chocolate again.

"I prefer your company." He replies eventually.

"Why?" Italy asks softly, resting his fingertips on Germany's cheeks.

Germany shrugs and leans back in his seat, away from Italy's hands. "I don't know...because you're my friend, I suppose.

Italy hums thoughtfully and sits next to him quietly for a while. 

"Are you tired?" He asks softly.

"I'm tired." Germany nods. 

Italy doesn't say anything, just pulls his feet up onto the sofa and leans against Germany's arm. Germany is still for a moment or two before putting his now-empty cup aside and pulling the blanket around them both. Surprisingly quickly, he falls asleep with Italy there. 


End file.
